


No Love Under the Qun

by PeriPeriwinkle



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Falling In Love, Friends to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-07
Updated: 2016-12-07
Packaged: 2018-09-07 03:21:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8781124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeriPeriwinkle/pseuds/PeriPeriwinkle
Summary: Bull closed his eye, grunting lowly and reciting to himself.   Asit tal-eb. The tide rises. The tide falls.   I will never fall in love.





	

He’d heard of love, once. A friend of his, a human native from Seheron, explained it to him as something you _knew_ , something that felt different for each person, but you just knew when you felt it, and you could only feel it to know it. Bull laughed and shook his head, wondering how people could believe in such silliness. How they could think that an unhealthy thing such as being overprotective and almost dependent of another person could be considered something _good_.

 _Qunari don’t do love,_ Hissrad said to him. _It’s too selfish. If it’s of no use to the Qun as a whole, then it’s of no use at all._

 _Hissrad, my friend_ , the man replied, smiling sympathetically. _Why do you think so many Qunari, even outside Seheron, leave the Qun?_

Hissrad didn’t answer, leaving the man to shake his head and see to the next customer in his store.

Years later, long after his merchant friend had died, Hissrad looked at Vasaad’s dead body, his chest hollow and limbs heavy and eyes blurry with tears he couldn’t stop, a pain so sharp behind his ribs he could barely breathe, and wondered, _is this how love feels?_

 _Impossible_ , he thought again, remembering the small, gentle smile on his friend’s face when he spoke of it. Of the vague descriptions of joy and lightness that one supposedly felt when they were deep in it, complete opposite to the heavy sickness he felt within his guts at the sight of Vasaad, bloody, broken and _dead_. Like someone was knotting his insides tightly together as he plotted his revenge.

Despite his better judgement, despite knowing he shouldn’t waste energy and resources on such a risky mission, he went after the people responsible. Let sorrow and desperation get a hold of him for once, lost track of space and time as his muscles worked on their own volition, as if remembering an old song and dance, crushed and tore limbs apart one by one until there was nothing left breathing but him, hissing and gasping and _alone_.

He stood in that cave after it was done, aching, panting, _empty_ , unable to find a reason to get up the next day and face it all again. _It cannot be love. And if it is, then I want nothing to do with it._

He saw too many of his close friends and colleagues die all the time, and Vasaad wasn’t supposed to be any different. As he handed himself to the reeducators’, he swore to himself, _I’ll **never** fall in love._

\---

Dorian was a man with many layers.

Suspicious, careful, unable to trust anyone. And who could blame him? He was a Tevinter in a time when Tevinters were trying to destroy the world. People were suspicious, and it showed with the way they looked at him, treated him with disdain. He was also proud, vain and extremely smart, on top of impossibly pretty; looks _and_ brains. Bull’s biggest turn-on, really. He was deeply intrigued by Dorian right away, curious about that man so far from his homeland, who complained about frivolities like a hole in his robes but kept quiet when he was so obviously shattering his teeth with the chilly wind that whipped at his skin.

He was weary of the Bull, of course. Most people were - even Adaar was the first time she saw him, and Katari still looked at him sideways whenever they crossed paths, fingers twitching and hand subtly moving towards his weapon. Bull knew and didn’t take it personally. People eventually warmed up to him little by little after they realized he wasn’t after hurting anyone who didn’t outright deserve it, but encouraging Dorian to warm up to him was a frustrating process, like trying to wipe a chunk of ice dry with a cloth. He rarely ate in the tavern or the great hall, made sure to keep his distance, constantly held his tongue, even amongst the inner circle. He was always on edge, always making sure to have both eyes open and his lips sealed shut. Always suspicious.

Still, Bull knew of the raids that were often commanded to his hometown by the Qun. Qarinus was a fucking mess; any Tevinter city so close to Seheron was doomed to be. So he didn’t blame Dorian for being extra suspicious of him; he couldn’t. He even went so far to reassure Dorian that he shouldn’t worry, that he had no intention of harming him whatsoever, but there was only so much he could do. Words amongst strangers were empty things, especially in times of war, when anyone could potentially be an enemy. Dorian’s trust was something he’d have to _earn_ , not expect.

And so, slowly, he earned it.

\---

When Adaar and Dorian left together for Redcliffe, Bull thought it odd that they didn’t take anyone else with them, but didn’t make a big deal of it. He assumed they’d be gone for at least three weeks at least, so when they came back precisely two weeks later, meaning they must’ve arrived in the village then the very next day began their trek back to Skyhold, Bull knew something else had happened.

He spotted Dorian making his way to his quarters, looking more exhausted than just from riding, and soon after gossip began to run through the castle like open fire in a forest. It didn’t take long for Bull to find out the gritty details of the Inquisitor’s little adventure: the person they went to meet was supposed to be a retainer sent by Dorian’s family, but it turned out to be none other than Dorian’s father in the flesh and bone. The same father who’d disowned him years ago because Dorian exclusively liked men and thus refused to marry a woman to continue the family line. When his father refused to accept it, to allow the Pavus bloodline to die with his son, Dorian deliberately became the scandal of the Imperium, debauching himself and his family name, as a way of saying _you don’t control me._ This part Bull already knew, of course. He’d be a shit Ben-Hassrath agent if he wasn’t in on what was happening with the Alti families in Tevinter.

 _Humans_. Tevinter, mostly, but still. As if gender preference could be so shameful. As if blood relation had anything to do with honor or family tradition or whatever it was that Tevinter worried about. Dorian’s father traveled for many miles to meet with Dorian so they could reconcile after he went too far trying to put his son in line - Bull heard about a house arrest followed by something else, something _worse_ , which was what drove Dorian to flee for two years before finally meeting Adaar. There were no details as to what that something was, which only meant it was _bad_.

As if the gossip itself wasn’t bad already, along with it came the judgements. Many called Dorian selfish for ending such an ancient family line. Others called him conceited, spoiled, shameful. A bratty, cocky rebel.

Bull just thought him brave.

To stand up against the highest authority figure in your life and refuse to compromise who you are? Shit, that took a lot of guts; Bull could appreciate that in a person.

The next time they were out together, he quietly offered the mage his consolations, which were, surprisingly, accepted fairly easily. He even got a smile, which made him happier than he knew he should be. It was just a small thing, after all, nothing special. But to Bull it _felt_ special. The first genuine smile he’d received from Dorian, the first true one, nothing forced or fake or sad about it. It felt like a victory. Like finally emerging out of knee-deep mud after dragging your legs for so long through it. He was finally managing to earn Dorian’s friendship.

Why that mattered so much or why it made him so happy, he had no idea. Maybe it was because he’d worked so hard to get it, victory just felt that much sweeter.

He invited Dorian over for drinks after they returned, and surprisingly, he accepted, as long as Bull paid. He sat down at the Charger’s table and complained loudly about the ale, but drank three tankards of it, sauntering back to his room with a wobbly skip in his step. It then became routine: Dorian, upon returning from a mission, joined the Chargers or the Inquisitor’s inner circle at the The Herald’s Rest, loosened up to everyone, smiled broadly and laughed unashamedly. Bull was glad. The mage looked... _happy_ , happier than he’d ever seen him since they met. Relaxed, less on edge, having actual fun with the friends he’d acquired throughout the months - Sera, Varric, Adaar, Cullen, even Vivienne. Which was good. _He deserves it_ , Bull thought as he drank another big gulp of his ale. Dorian looked at him then, watching his throat bob as he swallowed, then up at Bull’s single eye with his lids half hooded, grey eyes almost sparkling with intent, lips curled up in a grin that meant he had _things_ in mind. Bull licked the foam from his lips and swallowed yet a second time, which only made Dorian’s grin widen, sharp and mischievous.

Bull felt a shiver run down his spine. After his comment about _conquering_ was dismissed, he didn’t think anything would come of it, figured Dorian was just not interested after all. But now... now he felt like Dorian was the one planning on conquering.

He had almost three ales in him, Dorian had one and a half. A weak drink for heavyweights like the two of them. If Bull only felt mildly buzzed, then Dorian probably didn’t even register the alcohol yet. So they were both good, all things considered.

He finished his tankard in a huge gulp, plopped it down on the table and rose from his seat, announcing to his group he was taking his leave for the evening. Then, he looked back at Dorian, flicked his head subtly so only he would notice it. In reply, Dorian lifted an eyebrow, and Bull made his way up the stairs towards his bedroom.

Invitation made. Now the ball was in Dorian’s court.

\---

When Dorian knocked at the door that came from the battlements, Bull wasn’t surprised. He opened the door, and on the other side was none other than Dorian, who lifted a single brow at the hole up in the ceiling.

“Interesting decor you have here,” he commented idly, walking past him and taking off his coat. Bull shrugged and closed the door, sliding the lock in place.

“Haven’t had time to ask anyone to fix it yet,” he lied. He just didn’t want to bother the Inquisition with frivolities when they already had so much on their hands. Dorian nodded; whether he believed him or not Bull couldn’t tell, because the man was unbuckling his intricate outfit while staring straight into Bull’s eye.

“Well, I guess that means you’ll just have to warm me up to make up for this _wretched_ draft, doesn’t it?”

And warm up they did, in multiple, varied ways: with Bull pinning Dorian to his bed and kissing him silly, hands roaming and rubbing away the goosebumps that raised on naked flesh, nails raking down and leaving angry red lines in their wake.

Dorian moaned and squirmed and gave as much as he was given, never too pliant or submissive; just that right amount that left the both of them wanting _more_. He made Bull work for it all the way through, replied in earnest to every touch and every caress he received, made Bull shout and arch his back and almost drool when whatever Dorian was doing with his tongue was so good he couldn't focus on anything else, mouth agape and breathing heavily and legs twitching beyond his control.

They stayed up nearly all night, and through it all, Bull came twice and Dorian three times. Idly, while lying in bed afterwards, Bull realized how that was most likely the most satisfying fuck he’d had in _years_. After cleaning them both up and sprawling on the bed, Bull promptly passed out, one of his arms wrapped around Dorian, sheets pulled up over their sweaty bodies, content and light and utterly spent. But in the morning he woke up alone.

Deep down he predicted Dorian might leave before dawn, but it still hurt for some reason. A deep ache in his chest, hollow and heavy behind his ribs, a sudden sadness and a longing he’d never felt before.

He didn’t understand why he was feeling that way, nor did he appreciate it. He _liked_ Dorian, sure, but this? This went beyond that. Wanting to spend time with someone and being happy when they were happy was only natural, a consequence of creating deep, personal bonds with other people. Mostly Bull avoided that too, but when it happened, he tried not to look too much into it, tried to remember that everything had a beginning and an end, and if that person were to suddenly leave his life, he’d move on. No point sulking about it, or wishing it to be any different. _Asit tal-eb_. The tide rises, the tide falls, but the sea is changeless and all that.

He shook himself off of the uneasy feeling and got out of bed, deciding to bathe before starting the day, and as he was washing his back with a loofah he remembered the words of his old friend from Seheron.

_You’ll know when you feel it._

_Would I?_ , Bull wondered, remembering the hollow feeling in his chest in the morning, so similar yet so different from back when Vashaad died before his very own eyes. He rubbed his arms and chests harder than he should, scrubbing until his skin looked red and angry, then closed his eyes, grunting lowly. _Asit tal-eb_ , he recited to himself. _Asit tal-eb, asit tal-eb. Parshaara, Hissrad. The tide rises. The tide falls._

_I will never fall in love._

\---

Despite that morning when Bull slipped, he managed to get his self back in control, and thankfully his and Dorian’s relationship didn’t change - except for the fact that they now slept together more often than not, and that Dorian was more inclined to come down to the tavern to hang out with him and his men after a long day of research. Adaar took her entire inner circle to the Halamshiral ball, and there Bull watched the mage mingle and converse with the nobles in the garden from the window behind the food table. Later on, after Celine was saved and she and Briala had reconciled, they walked together around the palace, where Dorian commented on the architecture and Bull shared the gossip he’d heard during the evening, which much to his delight, got him to genuinely laugh. They threw each a caprice coin inside the fountain, kissed under a trellis, and finally danced to the muffled sound of the ballroom’s waltz in a hidden balcony. A couple of shocked Orlesians stared in awe, but Bull turned Dorian away from them, to protect him from their judging eyes.

Dorian gently placed his head on Bull’s shoulder, hand tightening against Bull’s, and as his rapidly beating heart pounded against his chest like nothing he’d ever felt before, he thought again, _I’ll never fall in love._ But maybe he could stay like this for a while longer, taking care of Dorian as Dorian took care of him right back. A silent yet mutual agreement of sorts, to be maintained for as long as Dorian wished to continue by his side, in his bed, on his lap, in his arms.

The letter from his Ben-Hassrath superiors reached his hands as soon as the Inquisitor’s entourage arrived back at Skyhold, and for a second Bull dreaded what it might say, like he was about to receive a scolding from Tama after doing something he knew he wasn’t supposed to. Which made no sense; Bull was still loyal to the Qun, spying for them and sending them reports periodically. He had nothing to be scolded for, not really.

The message on the letter made even less sense. An alliance with the Qun - not just unheard of, but completely nonsensical and absurd by the Qun’s point of view. If it wasn’t for the hidden signs in the message, he’d say it wasn’t from his superiors at all, but it’d passed all of his inspections. It was real, and for some reason, he knew it wasn’t good.

When he informed Adaar, she reacted the same as he did: suspicious beyond words. Still, she agreed to meet with the Qun’s agent and help them execute their plan, because a day when they destroyed a Venatori smuggling operation was always a good day.

Surprisingly, Dorian demanded he come along, and although the man was obviously not first in Adaar’s list of people to bring with her to settle a deal with the Qunari, she shrugged and agreed to have him in their party. It made Bull uneasy, but he said nothing of it.

The fact that the agent was Gatt was both a pleasant surprise and yet another warning sign to Bull. His superiors knew he and Gatt were close friends, and a tightness around Gatt’s eyes that he was never able to completely hide even after so many years under the Ben-Hassrath made Bull suspect something wasn’t right.

They’d brought the Chargers’ inner group for the mission, six competent soldiers that Bull trusted with his life, and Gatt kindly suggested they hold the right side of the ambush. According to Bull’s calculation though, that side would be the easiest of the two, and given the fact that Adaar's group would be relatively smaller he suggested they cover that side instead. But Gatt insisted.

“I’ll come with the Inquisitor, so the groups will be more balanced,” he argued, but still. It was a group of six versus a group of five. He frowned, and Gatt raised a brow. “What? You don’t think the five of us can handle that tiny camp?”

Of course they could. Either group could handle either campsite, really, although tactically it made more sense to give the Chargers the camp with the signal. Maybe Gatt prefered to have Bull himself light the signal up. So he agreed.

Venatori dead, camp cleared, signal lit. The smuggling ship sunk, the smell of gaatlok filling Bull’s nostrils, his whole body tensing under the Storm Coast’s rain. For a second he was back in the north, Seheron’s jungle behind him as he watched yet another fight roll in the water between a Magister’s ship and a qunari dreadnought, his team ready to strike or provide support if needed. He shivered despite how warm the jungle was, his hands clenched, blunt claws digging painfully into his palm, and next to him Adaar gasped.

“Krem!” She screamed, snapping Bull out of his trance, and when he looked down he saw what had startled her: a group of Venatori, with at least a half dozen mages, marching towards the Chargers.

“Bull, sound the retreat!”

“ _No!_ They _have_ to hold their position, Bull! If they attack the dreadnought before it’s far enough from the coast, it’s over for them!”

With their mage shields, along with Adaar’s static cage, Dorian’s firewall and Varric’s bolts, they would have been able to hold the Venatori back until the ship was at a safe distance, far into the sea. Until the Chargers were able to join them and finish the extra Venatori off.

Bull turned to Gatt, feeling betrayed, and saw that his eyes were fiery and filled with conviction. As if he knew Bull would listen to him.

 _Shit_. Of _course_ Gatt knew there was a third group near the Charger’s campsite. A group they wouldn’t be able to hold off on their own and that represented a huge danger to the dreadnought.

This really wasn’t an alliance offer. It was a _test_ , to see whether Bull would obey the Qun. Save the hundred Qunari lives inside the ship or save his half dozen men.

“ _Bull,_ ” Adaar whined, and Bull grunted.

He brought the horn to his lips, heard Gatt growl, and blew.

\---

The night they arrived back in Skyhold, Krem and the Chargers left him alone as per his request, and Bull climbed up the battlements’ stairs to his room, not daring to cross paths with someone who wanted to know how his trip to the coast had been. He wouldn’t know what to say. So he sat down at the stool in front of his desk, took a whetstone from its drawer, and began to sharpen the dawnstone axe the boss gave him right before the mission. A pretty thing, just as deadly as it was precious. Exactly like a certain mage that he knew.

Almost as if reading his thoughts, Dorian entered his room, knocking softly on the wood as he slowly pushed the door open.

“Do you need to talk?” He asked, softly, gently even, and Bull shook his head, lost for words. When he looked up, he eyed the cart full of wood outside his door with his brow raised.

“What’s all that?” He asked, and Dorian grinned, shrugging as he pulled the cart inside.

“It’s going to snow today,” he said, closing the door behind him and lifting a ladder from inside the cart. “I figure if you don’t want to ask the Inquisiton’s hands to do this for you, we could do it ourselves.”

Bull hesitated, then grinned as he shook his head, putting his axe back up on the wall and helping Dorian up the steps. Once he was in reach of the hole in the ceiling, Bull handed him a plank of wood, and Dorian took a few nails and a heavy hammer from his belt.

“I had no idea you knew how to fix ceilings, Dorian,” Bull commented as Dorian lined up the plank.

“I don’t,” he said, and Bull widened his eye. “I figured _you_ did, and you could walk me through it. Teach me how to do it.”

Bull laughed, doubling over as his whole body shook with laughter. Dorian cursed, holding himself up by grabbing onto the hole, his other hand still keeping the plank in place.

When Bull looked back up, wiping his eye on his shoulder, he noticed he was still holding on to the side of the ladder, and from up above, Dorian raised a single brow at him. He shook his head again, smile still plastered on his face.

“Alright, big guy. You convinced me. So first of all, you’re supposed to put the plank the other way around.”

“Fasta vass,” Dorian muttered, then flipped the plank.

If Bull had gone up the ladder instead, maybe the job could’ve been done in half the time, but instead he passed the planks up one by one and instructed Dorian to the best of his abilities. By the time both moons were high up in the sky and the first snowflake could be seen drifting down from Bull’s tiny window, the roof was neatly patched and Bull was happily giving Dorian’s sore neck, shoulders and arms a good massage.

“I could do this every day, you know”, Dorian hummed from between the pillows, and from above him, Bull smiled softly. Was he talking about working together with Bull, getting a good needed back rub, or the two of them being together in bed by the end of a long, hard day?

“Yeah,” Bull agreed. Whichever it was, Bull would gladly agree to all three of them. “Me too.”

And when Dorian opened his eyes and smiled up at him, _that_... that was when Bull _knew_.

Maybe Hissrad could never have dared to fall in love. But at that moment, The Iron Bull realized he’d broken that one simple rule a long, long time ago.

 


End file.
